


one more lovely little crisis

by poetic_nonsense



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Darksknight come read my fics challenge, Dom/sub Undertones, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, I have no idea what I'm doing, I still can't believe I managed to write smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, a bunch of aftercare, anyway cheers, crowley's been through it, it just......... happened, one (1) literary/art reference because I Cannot Help Myself, this poor boy is just utterly done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 19:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20765744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_nonsense/pseuds/poetic_nonsense
Summary: Crowley was splayed across the bed above Aziraphale’s shop in very little except the silk ropes binding his wrists to the bedposts and the sheen of sweat he’d worked up over the past few hours, and making the sort of noises that generally indicated he thought he was dying.Aziraphale was sitting between his legs with his shirt sleeves folded carefully back, and having a very nice time.





	one more lovely little crisis

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) and [sunshinefemme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinefemme/pseuds/sunshinefemme) for beta reading!

“Fgknnnnnnnnnnnnnnnghk,” said Crowley. 

“Yes, darling,” Aziraphale agreed, and twisted his hand around Crowley’s cock.

Crowley was splayed across the bed above Aziraphale’s shop in very little except the silk ropes binding his wrists to the bedposts and the sheen of sweat he’d worked up over the past few hours, and making the sort of noises that generally indicated he thought he was dying.

Aziraphale was sitting between his legs with his shirt sleeves folded carefully back, and having a very nice time.

Time, in fact, was proving to be one of the chiefest unforeseen benefits of that whole not-Apocalypse debacle (ranking right below Crowley’s unfettered smiles, and right above quite possibly never having to see Gabriel again).

Given that they were immortal beings, one might have thought they'd have had more time than they knew what to do with already. And to a point, this was so; Heav -- _ something _ knew some centuries dragged on more than others. But when it came to time _ with Crowley_, well, that was another matter.

Before the end-times-that-hadn't-really-ended-this-time, Aziraphale's time with Crowley had been necessarily brief and to-the-point.

There would have been no question, before, of closing the bookshop for a day in favor of taking Crowley to bed. And there would have been no possibility _ at all _ of keeping him tied there for hours, shaking and pleading and desperate, while Aziraphale took his time pulling slow, rolling orgasms out of him until a touch to his clit had him scrambling away, and then coaxing him into making a different sort of Effort so they could start all over.

They had time for that now. And, oh, what a _ marvelous _ time it was.

He realized he’d been drifting in his thoughts when he felt Crowley shake apart under him again with an agonized moan. He gradually slowed the movement of his hand and let Crowley come back down a bit, petting his quivering thigh with his free hand while Crowley trembled through the aftershocks.

Crowley panted and shuddered as he calmed down -- as much as he could, anyway, with Aziraphale’s continued slow, easy stroking sending visible shocks up his spine.

“Color?” Aziraphale asked easily, enjoying the sight.

It took Crowley almost a minute and a half to respond. Aziraphale kept his hands on him, one still running over his cock and the other rubbing circles into the sharp curve of his hip, knowing it was agitating as much as anchoring.

“Green,” Crowley managed finally, voice high and tinny, as though he had just taken a very long tumble down the side of an Anatolian hill.

“Mm. Lovely.” Aziraphale rewarded him with a little rub at that spot just under the head on the next stroke. Crowley’s muscles locked up and his head arched back with the strength of his shiver. “Do you think you can keep going?”

This seemed to take a moment to compute. Aziraphale enjoyed watching the blank, animal look in Crowley’s vacantly upturned eyes for the long moment before his lovely, clever brain managed to translate word into concept.

“Keep -- _ going?_” Crowley struggled to sit up for a moment before he gave up, blinking his eyes back into use and staring down at Aziraphale. His gobsmacked expression should have been comical, but he looked so completely _ debauched_, skin sweaty and blotched, eyes wild, lips red and slick, hair mussed beyond recognition. Aziraphale _ throbbed _ in his trousers. “You want --” Crowley looked both aroused and hysterical at the thought.

Aziraphale schooled his expression into something as neutral as he could manage and held Crowley’s gaze. He _ did _ want.

Crowley’s head flopped back onto the pillow, and he stared up at the ceiling disbelievingly. Aziraphale still stroked Crowley’s flagging cock, and he watched with carefully concealed desire and immense fondness as Crowley wrestled with his decision. He wouldn’t push him either way, of course, but he _ would _ quietly enjoy his small, occasional whimpers and the way his hips twitched helplessly into Aziraphale’s hand.

Crowley swallowed. “Yes.” He sounded nearly faint.

Aziraphale smiled, and showed his pleasure by firming his grasp on the next stroke. Crowley made a quiet choking noise. “Wonderful. Tell me when you can’t take any more, darling.”

Crowley made a despairing sound, and Aziraphale was already leaning down, eager now that the communication part was wrapped up, to wrap his lips gently around the head of Crowley’s cock, by now surely exquisitely sensitive. Crowley’s wail was quiet, too exhausted to move his lungs to volume, and Aziraphale pulled away before his approving moan could overstimulate him too much. Crowley’s face was contorted, like half a sob had settled there, and his eyes had returned to that beautiful glassy look.

“Oh, my love, you are exquisite,” Aziraphale praised fervently, rubbing firmly at Crowley’s thigh with his other hand. “You’re being so good for me. You’re making such a lovely effort to please me, and I appreciate it so very much. I’m going to take such good care of you, my darling, just let me make you feel good.”

He gave a final stroke to Crowley’s cock, which had never gotten to fall fully soft and was now making a tenuous return to hardness, and let go. Crowley whimpered pitifully, but Aziraphale hushed him, smoothing his hands up those narrow bony hips and across sweat-dewed flanks which fluttered with Crowley’s shallow breaths. “Shhh. I’ve got you, my dear. Just let me take care of you.”

Aziraphale scooted up to lean over Crowley’s torso, eyes roaming covetously across the flushed expanse of Crowley’s chest, the slight quivering of his abdomen, the occasional twitch of his thighs against Aziraphale’s clothed hips, and following everywhere with his hands. He was being a bit cruel perhaps, enjoying watching Crowley pant and squirm, too exhausted to writhe, but he did truly want to make Crowley feel transcendent, more than he wanted to get himself off. He would be quite happy to sit here and attend to Crowley’s pleasure for the rest of eternity without so much as a glance at himself.

That wasn’t, of course, to say that he wasn’t enjoying this immensely on a rather _ personal _ level.

He smoothed his hands back up the lovely stretch of warm skin to where Crowley’s pectorals stretched to meet his arms, and leaned down to delicately suck one flushed and sensitive nipple into his mouth. Crowley keened and his arms tugged convulsively against the restraints, though he probably couldn’t have managed to lift them, at this point, even if they weren’t tied down. Aziraphale hummed in appreciation and reached across with his thumb to stroke and roll the other swollen little nub. Crowley’s torso twisted weakly, as though he were trying to push his chest both into and away from Aziraphale’s loving assault. It made Aziraphale’s heart _ glow_, spreading warmth through his veins like blood. He pulled away with one last gently sucking kiss -- Crowley whined in the back of his throat -- and made his way, slowly, reverentially, down Crowley’s chest and stomach with mouth and hands.

When he finished his course with a long, savoring kiss to the hollow of Crowley’s left hip, and sat up, Crowley had gone quiet, seeming to have slipped into some sort of pleasure-filled haze. It gave Aziraphale pause for a moment, but when he rubbed his thumb inquisitively across the protrusion of Crowley’s hipbone, Crowley stirred and made an answering sort of noise, and Aziraphale realized in a flash that this was what the humans referred to as _ subspace _ these days.

Oh. Oh, _ good_.

He scraped his fingernails delicately over the base of Crowley’s stomach and down to the crease of his thigh, working his way steadily inward before he smoothed a hand back up Crowley’s cock. Instantly Crowley’s stomach collapsed inward and his back tried to arch as a thin keening sound wriggled out of his throat. Aziraphale made soothing noises and rubbed circles into his hip as he stroked Crowley back to whatever hardness he could achieve by this point.

Crowley seemed delightfully unfocused, seeming to drift back and forth between dreamy floating and jolts of oversensitivity, making sweet little noises of surprise every now and then. Aziraphale stroked steadily and pressed passionate endearments into his skin, flattening his hand groundingly over Crowley’s stomach when he felt Crowley’s muscles tense for the final stretch. It took a minute or two, once Crowley started quivering with every breath, but then Crowley was shivering apart with a lost look and coming to pieces under Aziraphale’s hands.

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale was moaning involuntarily as Crowley began to come down, shaking weakly with aftershocks, and “so good, Crowley, my dearest, my gorgeous love,” and without a conscious thought he was bending down to gather up the meager mess on his tongue, sucking wet kisses into Crowley’s trembling stomach.

“Give me a color, love,” he instructed when he was sitting back up, in control again, now that the momentary haze of _ want _ and rapture had lightened enough for him to ignore the rest.

“Green,” Crowley breathed immediately, and he sounded not fully there, wrapped in a blanket of glowing sensation. Aziraphale’s heart swelled nearly out of his chest with how proud he was of Crowley.

He told him so.

“Oh, I’m so proud of you, my love,” he sighed, leaning up to press kisses as far up Crowley as he could, which was his collarbones. “So proud of you, taking all that pleasure so gracefully, so well, letting yourself feel so good. You’ve done so well, my dear boy, and I should very much like to give you one more peak, just one more lovely little crisis, before you drift off for a nap. It’s a bit selfish perhaps, but I do so love watching you feel nice, and you’ve done so very splendidly so far. Do you think you could let me do that?”

Aziraphale settled back and patiently ran his hands down Crowley’s legs while he waited for some sort of response. When it came, it was a thready moan rising from his euphoric trance, devastated but not dissenting.

Aziraphale beamed. “Marvelous, thank you.”

And he got to work.

Crowley whimpered at every brush of fingers, now, so Aziraphale took his time, starting well away from the most sensitive areas and taking scrupulous care to be as gentle as possible. By the time Aziraphale had eased his way up to where Crowley’s legs turned into hips, Crowley was reduced to sighs and a half-uttered moan when Aziraphale pressed a gentle kiss to his breastbone. A small and exceedingly pleasant eternity later, Aziraphale finally wrapped his fingers around Crowley’s overworked cock and Crowley began a steady stream of quiet whimpers, but he remained submerged in his daze of ecstasy as Aziraphale patiently coaxed him along with hands and lips and gentle encouragements.

When Crowley finally came, it was with two weak spasms and a silent expression of such complete and utter rapture that it punched a helpless groan out of Aziraphale.

He contained himself long enough to bring Crowley gently back down, but then he couldn’t stand the distance any longer and practically launched himself up to kiss Crowley. Dimly, he registered that he’d jostled Crowley’s leg in his haste to crouch above him, and he breathed “Sorry” into Crowley’s lips. But then Crowley was kissing faintly back and he couldn’t help losing himself in it. The contact was so _ good_, and Crowley was lax and blissed-out under his lips, hardly able to move, and _ Aziraphale _ had got him that way, and suddenly it wasn’t _ enough _ and all of the not-touching hit him at once and he was fully clothed and not touching Crowley and it was absolutely intolerable.

His clothes disappeared to parts unknown fast enough to make him slightly dizzy, and he was reaching down to take himself in hand before they were even gone. It barely took two strokes to bring himself off, gasping for breath against Crowley’s slick, swollen mouth and moaning desperately when Crowley shivered at the evidence of Aziraphale’s pleasure hitting his stomach.

Aziraphale returned to himself slowly, sluggishly, and it almost felt difficult, like he was coming down out of the heavens and the firmament didn’t want to let him back in. Crowley was still kissing him, and that was very nice indeed, so he stayed right where he was while he drifted back down to earth, awash in love and awe and deep self-satisfaction (which was, of course, different from Pride, not that he cared much at the moment).

Eventually he noticed the first warning signs that Crowley would be getting cold soon (skin getting cool, arms starting to tense, legs drifting closed) and pulled himself back together, raising his head with a happy sigh and easing himself to the side, careful to leave a hand on Crowley’s chest. Crowley only hummed and tilted his head after him, eyes still closed in an expression of supreme contentment. 

Aziraphale had one of those moments where his love felt like it couldn’t possibly fit inside him and he wondered idly if splitting his chest open would relieve the fierce ache.

He settled for running his fingers through Crowley’s dampened hair. “How are you feeling, my dear?” he asked warmly, and oh, there it was, love leaking out of him any way it could. He couldn’t imagine how he had kept it contained for so long.

Crowley made a sound like an engine failing to turn over. “Th’t nun fr’m Avila got off light,” he added after a moment.

Aziraphale couldn’t help laughing, and between Crowley’s wry tone and the small grin that crept across his face at the laughter, he gathered that Crowley was well on the road to recovering himself.

Still, more was more when it came to aftercare, and Aziraphale would sooner throw himself into the Thames in his best waistcoat than pass up a perfectly good chance to pamper Crowley.

Mostly what Crowley liked was skin contact, and lots of it. There was a particular type of spicy chocolates which Aziraphale kept in stock, these days, because Crowley sometimes asked for them at times like these. He liked to prop himself against Aziraphale’s chest and be fed them. (Aziraphale liked that, too. Quite a lot.) But he generally asked for those on days that he wanted them, and he hadn’t asked so far. On days when he didn’t, a nice hot bath was usually just the ticket, provided Aziraphale maintained some kind of touch during the whole bath-arranging process.

Aziraphale reached up to untie Crowley’s wrists, running his hand self-indulgently up first one arm, then back down and up the other. Leaning across Crowley to reach the far wrist positioned Aziraphale perfectly to kiss him, and he took advantage of it, capturing his mouth for a long, slow kiss that pulled pleased vibrations too weak to be a hum from Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale loved him with every ounce of hedonism he’d managed to accumulate over the centuries.

When he drew back, he tugged Crowley’s arms gently down to his sides, and he picked each one up to gently cradle in his hands as he kissed the wrist and palm and watched Crowley smile, slow and beatific, golden eyes still hidden behind serenely closed lids.

If they stayed here much longer, Aziraphale was going to end up quoting passages of love poetry, and while he loved watching Crowley’s embarrassed, unwillfully pleased reactions, he was so enjoying the tranquil bliss Crowley was exhibiting now. He snapped, and the adjoining washroom obligingly started making the noises of a perfectly warm bath being run.

He miracled the mess away, too, with a wave of his hand, and when Crowley hardly stirred at being suddenly dry and clean Aziraphale had an inkling of suspicion that he might be drifting off to sleep.

“Not yet,” he chuckled, rubbing warm circles into Crowley’s belly, and Crowley hummed in token protest even as he tried to lean into the contact.

“It’ll be warmer once we get you in the bath,” Aziraphale said, amused. “Do you want to walk, or must I carry you there?”

Finally one serpentine eye cracked open, and it was a testament to Crowley’s infinite expressivity that the look he gave Aziraphale managed to convey knowing, sardonic amusement at Aziraphale’s attempt to frame the question as though he didn’t delight at every opportunity to sweep Crowley into his arms.

“Oh, fine, you old serpent,” Aziraphale sighed exaggeratedly, pressing his lips together to fight off another chuckle. “_May _ I carry you there?”

“Don’t see how you expect me to make it there on my own,” Crowley grumbled, for show, but Aziraphale saw his smile widen as he gathered Crowley up and lifted him off the bed easily. Crowley was very fond of displays of Aziraphale’s supernatural strength. (Aziraphale suspected that it made him think back on their time in Eden, and also that he might possibly have been lurking and watching for a few days while Aziraphale helped lift and rearrange things for Eve in addition to his general Gate-guarding duties.)

Crowley sighed blissfully when Aziraphale eased him into the water, and melted back into Aziraphale as he settled in behind him. Aziraphale found baths pleasant enough, himself, (though they posed a menace to books if improperly minded), but Crowley practically liquefied in them, and Aziraphale enjoyed _ that _ a good deal more. He ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair as Crowley made happy little sounds against his chest and reached out to languidly pat Aziraphale’s thigh under the water.

Aziraphale surreptitiously miracled up a few candles, and some rose oil in the bathwater, because he could perform all the frivolous miracles he wanted, now, and he wanted to use them on Crowley, regardless (and maybe a bit _ because_) of who might be seeing the records back in Heaven.

They settled into a lovely peaceful silence while Aziraphale worked his hands through Crowley’s hair and the delicate scent of roses rose up around them. Aziraphale’s hands slipped down occasionally to lightly massage Crowley’s neck and shoulders or sweep across the arches of his cheeks, and Crowley hummed his contentment.

“Shall I wash your hair for you?” Aziraphale asked eventually, scratching his fingernails lightly across Crowley’s scalp. Crowley made a garbled noise involving quite a few consonants. Aziraphale scratched harder.

“Could wash other things, too,” Crowley tried, aiming for suggestiveness, but his tone was entirely too complacent and Aziraphale snorted.

“Given how utterly exhausted you were not thirty minutes ago, that’s hardly very convincing,” he remarked in a satiric tone.

“Yeah, that was a wild bluff,” Crowley agreed, grinning giddily. Aziraphale looked down at him, looking just a hair away from giggling, and felt again that love that ached so hard it almost hurt. “You can go ahead and wash my hair, though.”

Aziraphale shook his head fondly as he miracled over Crowley’s favorite shampoo (it was on the ledge by their feet, but he didn’t want to reach all the way over) and pressed a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. “You marvelous, _ ridiculous _ creature.”

Crowley only grinned wider as he wiggled forward a little to allow Aziraphale to dunk his head. “You love me.”

“I _ do_,” Aziraphale said fervidly, and tugged at Crowley’s hair to tip his head back far enough to plant a deep, slow, thorough, loving, _ passionate _ kiss on his mouth. If possible, Crowley melted even further, and surged up as far as his awkward position would allow to kiss back the way he’d been too wrung-out to do before.

Aziraphale kept them there, kissing, for minutes on end.

Then he dunked Crowley’s head under the water without warning and listened to him sputter in surprise and indignation.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!! Comments always make my day. :)
> 
> By "that nun from Avila" Crowley is of course referring to St. Teresa of Avila, a 16th-century nun whose autobiography features passages describing her experiences of religious ecstasy at the hands of an angel:
> 
> "I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it. The soul is satisfied now with nothing less than God. The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the body has its share in it. It is a caressing of love so sweet which now takes place between the soul and God, that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who may think that I am lying." [(x)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ecstasy_of_Saint_Teresa#Sculptural_group_and_its_setting)
> 
> I MEAN.
> 
> And no, the artists who immediately jumped on this did NOTHING to dial back the sexy.
> 
> (Catholicism is so horny for itself I fucking swear)
> 
> Come flail with me on [Tumblr](https://poetic----nonsense.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
